island, he would have speedily out-Crusoed Crusoe himself, and surrounded himself with protection from the elements, and domestic comforts. To such a lad as this, it is astonishing how all odds and ends of things become treasures-nothing is lost; bits of wood, scraps of leather, tin, iron, old nails, screws, &c., are hoarded up, and turn, in his hands, into things of account. This fine lad had a box full of old watch-springs, bits of chain, hooks, buttons, wires-anything and everything-which were of essential use at the right season.

SUNSHINE AFTER RAIN.

1.

I left my love in England,
In poverty and pain,

The tears hung heavy in my eyes,
But hers came down like rain!

I

gave

her half of all I had,

Repressed the rising sigh,

For, thinking of the days to come,

I kept my courage high.

'Oh, farewell!' I said; 'if seasons pass,
And sunshine follows rain,

And morning dawns on darkest night,
You'll see me back again.'

2.

I left my love in England,

And sailed the stormy sea,

To earn my bread by daily toil,
An honest man and free.

I wrought and strove from morn to night,
And saved my little store,

And every summer gave me wealth,

And made the little more.

Oh! at length I bought the field I ploughed,
The sunshine followed rain,

The morning dawned on that dark night,
And I went back again.

3.

I sought my love in England,
And brought her o'er the sea;

A happy man, a happy wife,

To bless my home and me.

My farm is large, my wants are small,
I bid my care depart,

And sit beneath my own oak-tree,

With proud, yet grateful heart.

Oh! the children smiling round the board
Ne'er asked for bread in vain :

The day has dawned upon the night,

The sun has followed rain.

THE PLEASURES AND ADVANTAGES OF
KEEPING A DOG.

There is, in the first place, the extremely agreeable state into which one is every now and then put by personal contact with the dog, whose kindness, leading him to a very familiar intercourse, causes your clothes to be sometimes embroidered in the herring-bone fashion with his

hairs, and sometimes curiously marked with the impressions of his soiled paws. It is also very pleasant, if he is a water-dog, to be occasionally besprinkled with the contents of his shaggy coat, as he shakes himself convulsively by your side on coming out of his favourite element. How interesting, too, when the poor animal, in the spirit of sincere friendship, comes up unexpectedly, and thrusts a nose as cold as his heart is warm into your half-closed hand, as it hangs beside your chair! There are some people who, at first, start under this application; but habit soon reconciles them to it, as it proverbially will to anything. We shall suppose the dog to be well-bred for domestic existence on the more important points. This is generally considered desirable. But still enough of nature will be apt to remain about him, to remind the company from time to time, in the most agreeable manner, that a dog is, after all, still a dog.

The love that man or woman bears to dog is honourable to man or woman; but the course of this love, like that of the much-berhymed passion which man and woman bear for each other, is one which I have never found from tale or history, or any sort of experience or observation, to run smooth. Love, in all its shapes, implies sacrifices. Much must be conceded, much endured, if we would love. It is so eminently with respect to dogs. You may love your dog; but, unhappily, and in despite of the proverb, no other person does. On the contrary, all other people wonder what you can see in the animal to regard it so tenderly; and whenever an opportunity occurs, they will not be averse from letting it feel how much they despise and loathe it. Many a secret kick and tread on toes does the poor creature get from friend and servant; many a time is he defrauded of his due aliment down stairs.

P

Trifles light as air are brought to his door as great offences, and often is he accused of things of which he is entirely innocent. Rarely, indeed, does he experience either justice or kindness from anybody but yourself. The very neighbours are in a conspiracy against him. If he but howls a little in the courtyard or street by night-merely following his poetical propensity for baying the moon→ then have you civil-angry messages sent in next morning on all hands, remonstrating against what they spitefully call the annoyance. If, in the merest good-nature, he leaps up upon a nurse-maid, as she parades the street with her interesting charge in the forenoon, then, as soon as papa comes home to dinner, may you look for a peremptory note from that gentleman, representing the fact in the most alarming light (the maid having exaggerated it to mamma, and mamma having, in her turn, exaggerated it to papa), and demanding no less than that your innocent favourite shall be chained up a prisoner for life, as, otherwise, the complainant will feel it necessary, 'for the sake of his family,' to take legal steps. The police authorities, too, are serious enemies to dogs. Every summer they take it into their heads that the creatures are on the point of turning mad, and out comes an order commanding that every one of them shall be muzzled, under pain of being apprehended and poisoned. This is nothing, of course, but an emanation of that spite which all men bear towards all dogs which do not belong to themselves.

The inconveniences entailed upon you by your affection are particularly felt when you and your dog take a walk. In the course of your stroll, you come to a pleasant garden or park open to the public, and which you therefore enter; but, lo! immediately within the gate, you behold the malicious placard: "No Dogs Admitted-All found

within the enclosures will be shot.' You have therefore either to deny yourself the pleasure of walking over the grounds, on which you had set your heart, or to resolve upon having it under the risk of the destruction of your dumb friend. Choosing the safer course, you pursue your walk, and your dog being young and excursive, he is every moment over the enclosures at one side of the road or the other, and scouring through the adjacent fields, where, should he find a flock of sheep, he is instantly in the midst of them, barking like mad. The sheep disperse in consternation; the dog pursues; and the shepherd, after a frenzied endeavour to protect his charge, comes up breathing fire and darts at you, as if you were to blame. Some cursory remarks are made on both sides, and you are glad in the end if you can get yourself and dog away without a bodily collision of some kind with the incensed barbarian. As you go along, Roger meets many others of his own species, belonging to other gentlemen who are taking walks. With some, he is very friendly, and all passes off agreeably. In other cases, he and the other quadruped, being much about a size, and feeling some instinctive mutual hatred, draw up opposite to each other two yards off, look suspiciously and angrily for a minute, then declining a little each to a different side, go stiffly past each other, keeping their bodies as straight onward as possible, each murmuring exactly the same amount of wrath and defiance, each looking by the tail of his eye at the other with exactly the same glare of deadly enmity, and then pass on at an exactly corresponding pace, till, reaching two hillocks about a hundred yards apart, they let each other know, by a subdued bark and an intense scraping of the earth, that, if it had not been more for one thing than another, each would have